Twisty Turny Gorgeous

If you've never been to West Virginia, you're missing out. Carl and I took a tour of the best of the best last week, packing the dogs in the Subaru and driving south and west to Dolly Sods Wilderness.  The last of the brilliant leaves still clung to the trees and one bank we passed reported the temperature as 87 degrees.  It got predictably cooler as we turned off the paved road and headed up into the hills.  From the trailhead, it only took us about 40 minutes to reach the best campsite in the area, perched above two streams coming together and complete with fire ring and seats.

 Luna loves camping more than anything (even tennis balls), and she barely slept the first night because there was so much to keep track of outside.  At one point we heard what we thought was a raccoon hissing at us from the dark.

The next morning we left camp where it was and set off with day packs to explore the area.  Our trail took us across beaver dams...

 ...and through bogs, where at some point we lost the actual trail and ended up bushwhacking our way up to the ridge through thick stands of hemlock, pines, and mountain laurel.

 Up on the ridge we discovered our lost trail, massive rock formations, and sweeping views of the Canaan Valley below.  Not a bad place for lunch.

 The pups were troopers through the whole adventure, bounding around the bogs and keeping track of everyone in the brush.

 True to form,  Luna managed to find a tennis ball in the middle of a wilderness area.  Luckily for us, she was so tired out by our 12 mile jaunt that she promptly curled up when we returned to camp.  That night we were treated to several choruses of coyotes calling to each other first from one direction, then the other.

 Day three we took our time breaking camp before hiking back to the car.  Everyone was still pretty tired from our death march the day before, and it was hard to tell who was more relieved to settle into the vehicle.  Our tour continued south to Seneca Rocks...

 ...and then back north to Blackwater Falls...

 ...and the quirky towns of Davis and Thomas.  Right next store to each other, these places are a little pocket of dirty hippie in the mountains of West Virginia.  Thomas is the home of the Purple Fiddle which serves up organic food and live music.  They also have a couple guest rooms that even welcome dogs.  It was a little like staying at your crazy great-aunt's house, complete with VCR and video cassettes.  That evening we joined a couple other folks in the cafe and stayed on to watch a band of recent college graduates rock out.

With all that, how could you not love West Virginia?  Back at home we've unpacked and turned our sights to the next big adventure: surviving Hurricane Sandy.  We've already gotten 2 inches of rain, laid bets on how high the river's going to get, and are bracing for the winds that are on their way.  The power will most certainly go out but don't worry, we are stocked up on M & Ms, knitting supplies, and dog treats.  Bring it on!

Taking Stock

It's been six weeks since I lost my dad to a completely random act of incomprehensible violence.  Those six weeks have been, simultaneously, the most whirl wind and the most excruciatingly slow of my life.  We've laughed, cried, laughed some more, and cried again.  I don't even have the words to express...any of it.  But for every heart wrenching moment I have, there's been something equally wonderful to carry me on.

Thank you to everyone for the letters, emails, and messages of support.  Thanks for the food and the company.  Thanks for walks in the woods and sloppy puppy kisses.  Life keeps moving on, and so will we.

May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be at your back
May the sun shine warm on your face
The rain fall softly on your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of his hand

Miss you and love you, Dad.  Safe travels.

Pinch Me, I'm Dreaming

Last night my co-guide, Chris, and I went to dinner at Lion's Taverna, situated right on the beach a short walk away from our hotel.  The waiter Peter greeted us warmly (Chris is a regular face around here), then invited us back into the kitchen to view the day's offerings.  He pulled open tray after steaming tray of moussaka, chicken stuffed with spinach and feta, steamed local greens, mushrooms with seafood, swordfish steaks, and other goodies.  We pointed to our preferences, then returned to our table to listen to the surf, watch the numerous cats patrolling the board walk, and enjoy a real Greek salad (a slab of fresh feta atop cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, onions, and olives).  The rest of our food followed in the usual leisurely manner and we ate serenaded by a gentleman playing what we guessed was traditional Greek music on what we guessed was a lute.  The meal culminated with a small plate of fruit, most likely from the owner's farm, and the requisite shots of raki, the local liquor.  It's made with the grape skins left over from making wine, and each taverna makes their own.  Apparently they all taste a little bit different; perhaps by the end of this trip my palate will have developed enough to tell.

This is my life right now and it's pretty incredible.  The journey to Greece started Wednesday at Dulles Airport in Washington D.C. when Carl dropped me off at the curb, and culminated 28 hours later in a rental car with Chris driving across the island of Crete from Heraklion to Matala.  It was dark when we arrived so the next morning I awoke to the full effect of the small resort town, with its short stretch of shops, tavernas, cafes and restaurants, the crescent beach and crystal clear water, and the iconic rock formations that frame the bay, great layers of rock angling into the ocean with a whole network of caves carved into them.  This town has been a hippie hang out since the sixties and that vibe is still going strong.  A lot of places have live music, and its usually Bob Marley covers.

Amazingly enough I am here to work.  It's been good to have a few days to get my bearings, work on my tan, and learn the words for "thank you" and "good day" before being responsible for other people.  This will be Chris' 11th time doing this trip so he's got everything very much under control (which is reassuring for me), especially since we only have 5 people on this time around.  It's the perfect way to get my feet wet and see what this is really all about.  Today is the first day of the trip - Chris is in Heraklion now picking up folks from the airport, then we'll spend the afternoon outfitting people with paddling gear and perhaps even get on the water.  This evening I get to do my first massages since leaving Oregon.  Hopefully massage, like paddling, comes back as quickly as falling off a bicycle.